


next time we'll just punch each other in the face

by lynne_monstr



Category: Leverage
Genre: Dick Jokes, Fighting As Foreplay, Flowers, M/M, Romantic Gestures, this is as close to romantic as they get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 09:18:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16194611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: Eliot's cooking dinner, but he's waiting on one last thing. He should know better than to think Quinn would ever do what he's told.Written for the flufftober prompts on tumblr. Day 2: Flowers.





	next time we'll just punch each other in the face

Eliot wiped his forehead with his bandana, tossing it aside and surveying his handiwork.

The table was practically bursting under the weight of all the dishes heaped onto it. Colorful pastas and fresh salads and a leg of lamb that had taken him all damn day to marinate and roast until it was perfect. Squeezed between the food, tall candlesticks provided a warm, intimate atmosphere. Only one space in the center still needed filling, and the vase was already prepped with water and plant catnip, as Parker liked to call it, never mind that plants and cats were completely different things.

A hum of satisfaction buzzed under his skin, buoyed by the aroma of meat and spice that hung heavy in the air.

Right on time, the front door opened.

Quinn was dressed in jeans and a crisp shirt for the occasion, his hair pulled back into a neat ponytail that Eliot would normally be itching to get his hands into. Especially with the way his muscles strained beneath the thin powder blue shirt, thanks to the load of grocery bags hanging from both arms.

Except wait, that wasn’t right.

“Where are the flowers?” Eliot twirled the wooden spoon between his fingers, pointing from the food-laden table over to where Quinn stood in the doorway. Shadows from the candles played across his face.

Quinn shot him a confused grin and hefted the bags. “What do you mean? I got it all right here.” With a grunt, he set them on the island that dominated most of the kitchen.“Next time you wanna give me a workout, Spencer, how about we skip the errands and just punch each other in the face. It would hurt less.”

Because he was a damn drama queen, he shook his arms out as he walked over to Eliot for a hello kiss.

Eliot took off his apron and threw it at Quinn’s head. By the time Quinn had caught it and dropped it on a barstool, Eliot was already digging into the plastic bags.

“What the hell is this?” Eliot held up a 5-pound bag of flour, eyeing it like it might start beeping and reveal itself to be a bomb. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them brought explosives home.

A quick look confirmed his original suspicion. The rest of the bags contained nothing but flour in various sizes. All purpose flour, Whole wheat flour. Bread flour. Cake flour. Buckwheat flour.

“You said a dozen flours,” Quinn said.

“I said,” Eliot strode forward to poke Quinn in the chest, “a dozen flowers.”

“You also said you wanted to bake more.” The corners of Quinn’s lips twitched, and that was enough to give him away that this was no innocent misunderstanding.

Eliot shook his head. “You’re a piece of work, you know that.”

“Funny enough, you’re not the first person to tell me that. Though normally I’m tied to a chair and there are knives involved…and threats,” Quinn added, grabbing Eliot’s hips to pull him in.

“Well we can see about one of those things,” Eliot promised.

Quinn leaned the rest of the way in. “Oh. Are you going to stab me, Eliot?”

“Not was I was going for. But sure, in a manner of speaking,” Eliot replied, and then they were kissing.

It was already warm in the kitchen and having Quinn pressed up against him wasn’t helping matters. And the table still didn’t have flowers. But, Eliot decided as he backed Quinn up against the counter, boxing him in with his arms, it would all work out just fine.

“Five years to the day since I first kicked your ass,” Quinn said, tilting his head back to give Eliot’s lips better access to the underside of his jaw. “Happy anniversary.”

Eliot pressed further against him, forcing Quinn’s back to arch over the counter, unbalanced. “How many times I gotta remind you who won that fight.”

“I see you’re not actually denying your ass was thoroughly kicked.” Like the slippery bastard he was, Quinn twisted out of the hold, his hand brushing lightly across Eliot’s ass as if for emphasis.

A hand gripped his wrist and Eliot let himself be shepherded towards the table full of food, the promise of things to come heavy in both their gazes.

And really, who needed flowers anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I sadly haven't been writing much fic lately. Most of it's been limited to tiny snippets that have stayed on tumblr.  
> But I guess this is long enough to count, so here we are.


End file.
